Nathan Hale
To drum beat and heart beat, A soldier marches by, There is color in his cheek, There is courage in his eye; Yet to drum beat and heart beat, In a moment he must die.
By starlight and moonlight, He seeks the Britons" camp; He hears the rustling flag, And the armed sentry"s tramp; And the starlight and moonlight His silent wanderings lamp.
With a slow tread and still tread, He scans the tented line, And he counts the battery guns By the gaunt and shadowy pine, And his slow tread and still tread Gives no warning sign.
The dark wave, the plumed wave, It meets his eager glance; And it sparkles "neath the stars, Like the glimmer of a lance-- A dark wave, a plumed wave, On an emerald expanse.
A sharp clang, a steel clang, And terror in the sound!
For the sentry, falcon-eyed, In the camp a spy has found; With a sharp clang, a steel clang, The patriot is bound.
With calm brow, steady brow, He listens to his doom.
In his look there is no fear, Nor a shadow trace of gloom, But with calm brow, steady brow, He robes him for the tomb.
In the long night, the still night, He kneels upon the sod; And the brutal guards withhold E"en the solemn word of G.o.d!
In the long night, the still night, He walks where Christ hath trod.
"Neath the blue morn, the sunny morn, He dies upon the tree; And he mourns that he can give But one life for liberty; And in the blue morn, the sunny morn His spent wings are free.
But his last words, his message words, They burn, lest friendly eye Should read how proud and calm A patriot could die.
With his last words, his dying words, A soldier"s battle cry.
From Fame-leaf and Angel-leaf, From monument and urn, The sad of earth, the glad of Heaven, His tragic fate shall learn; And on Fame-leaf and Angel-leaf, The name of Hale shall burn.
_Francis M. Finch._
The Lips That Touch Liquor Must Never Touch Mine
You are coming to woo me, but not as of yore, When I hastened to welcome your ring at the door; For I trusted that he who stood waiting me then, Was the brightest, the truest, the n.o.blest of men.
Your lips on my own when they printed "Farewell,"
Had never been soiled by "the beverage of h.e.l.l"; But they come to me now with the baccha.n.a.l sign, And the lips that touch liquor must never touch mine.
I think of that night in the garden alone, When in whispers you told me your heart was my own, That your love in the future should faithfully be Unshared by another, kept only for me.
Oh, sweet to my soul is the memory still Of the lips which met mine, when they murmured "I will"; But now to their pressure no more they incline, For the lips that touch liquor must never touch mine!
O John! how it crushed me, when first in your face The pen of the "Rum Fiend" had written "disgrace"; And turned me in silence and tears from that breath All poisoned and foul from the chalice of death.
It scattered the hopes I had treasured to last; It darkened the future and clouded the past; It shattered my idol, and ruined the shrine, For the lips that touch liquor must never touch mine.
I loved you--Oh, dearer than language can tell, And you saw it, you proved it, you knew it too well!
But the man of my love was far other than he Who now from the "Tap-room" comes reeling to me; In manhood and honor so n.o.ble and right-- His heart was so true, and his genius so bright-- And his soul was unstained, unpolluted by wine; But the lips that touch liquor must never touch mine.
You promised reform, but I trusted in vain; Your pledge was but made to be broken again: And the lover so false to his promises now, Will not, as a husband, be true to his vow.
The word must be spoken that bids you depart-- Though the effort to speak it should shatter my heart-- Though in silence, with blighted affection, I pine, Yet the lips that touch liquor must never touch mine!
If one spark in your bosom of virtue remain, Go fan it with prayer till it kindle again; Resolved, with "G.o.d helping," in future to be From wine and its follies unshackled and free!
And when you have conquered this foe of your soul,-- In manhood and honor beyond his control-- This heart will again beat responsive to thine, And the lips free from liquor be welcome to mine.
_George W. Young._
A Perfect Day
When you come to the end of a perfect day And you sit alone with your thought While the chimes ring out with a carol gay For the joy that the day has brought, Do you think what the end of a perfect day Can mean to a tired heart?
When the sun goes down with a flaming ray And the dear friends have to part?
Well, this is the end of a perfect day, Near the end of a journey, too; But it leaves a thought that is big and strong, With a wish that is kind and true; For mem"ry has painted this perfect day With colors that never fade, And we find, at the end of a perfect day, The soul of a friend we"ve made.
_Carrie Jacobs Bond._
_Kate Ketchem_
Kate Ketchem on a winter"s night Went to a party dressed in white.
Her chignon in a net of gold, Was about as large as they ever sold.
Gayly she went, because her "pap"
Was supposed to be a rich old chap.
But when by chance her glances fell On a friend who had lately married well, Her spirits sunk, and a vague unrest And a nameless longing filled her breast-- A wish she wouldn"t have had made known, To have an establishment of her own.
Tom Fudge came slowly through the throng, With chestnut hair, worn pretty long.
He saw Kate Ketchem in the crowd, And knowing her slightly, stopped and bowed; Then asked her to give him a single flower, Saying he"d think it a priceless dower.
Out from those with which she was decked, She took the poorest she could select.
And blushed as she gave it, looking down To call attention to her gown.
"Thanks," said Fudge, and he thought how dear Flowers must be at that time of year.
Then several charming remarks he made, Asked if she sang, or danced, or played; And being exhausted, inquired whether She thought it was going to be pleasant weather.
And Kate displayed her "jewelry,"
And dropped her lashes becomingly; And listened, with no attempt to disguise The admiration in her eyes.
At last, like one who has nothing to say, He turned around and walked away.
Kate Ketchem smiled, and said, "You bet.
I"ll catch that Fudge and his money yet.
He"s rich enough to keep me in clothes, And I think I could manage him as I chose.
He could aid my father as well as not, And buy my brother a splendid yacht.
My mother for money should never fret, And all it cried for the baby should get; And after that, with what he could spare, I"d make a show at a charity fair."